


make myself a king

by hollyhobbit101



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, F/M, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Sam Winchester's Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 01:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18400361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyhobbit101/pseuds/hollyhobbit101
Summary: Sam dreams of faces in the shadows, of yellow eyes watching his every move. He dreams of fire and blood and death, and he dream of destiny. There are demons talking in Sam Winchester's head and, sometimes, he listens.





	make myself a king

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the [ Sam Winchester 'Zine](https://samwinchesterzine.tumblr.com/post/183356224118/you-read-that-right-the-wait-is-finally-over-the) on tumblr, which you can find by clicking on the link. Please check it out - it's completely free and there's tons of fabulous Sam inspired art and fic for your enjoyment!
> 
> It is also posted on my tumblr, [charlie-bradburyss](http://charlie-bradburyss.tumblr.com/post/184043616573/make-myself-a-king/)
> 
> Title from Kings by Tribe Society

Sam has the first dream when he is five years old. He dreams quite a lot, actually, but this one is different. There’s a man in front of him, but Sam can’t really tell what he looks like; he can only see his shadow. His sil-hou-ette. _(Miss Jemima taught him that word last week. The ‘h’ is silent)_.

The man moves closer, but he’s still just a silhouette, even when he’s right in front of Sam. He can only see the figure’s eyes, bright yellow ones that never seem to blink or look away. Sam tries to shy away, but the figure just follows him wherever he goes.

Giving up, Sam balls his hands into fists and stands as tall as he can, frowning at the figure. “Who are you?” he demands.

The figure starts laughing, the sound spreading all around Sam. It’s not a nice laugh, not like Dean has, or Dad when he’s in a good mood, and Sam instantly curls back in on himself, fear enveloping him.

“Soon,” the yellow-eyed man promises, and then he’s gone.

Sam wakes up with a start. He remembers his dream and shakes Dean awake, earning himself a few tired swipes and a lot of grumbling. Eventually, though, Dean sits up and Sam barrels into an explanation, making sure he leaves nothing out. When he’s done, he looks at Dean expectantly, but his brother just sighs and lies back down.

“It was just a dream, Sam,” Dean mumbles. “Go back to sleep.”

* * *

The figure doesn’t appear again for a while, and Sam starts to think that maybe Dean was right all along. But then he reads Dad’s journal, and it visits him once more.

The shadow speaks first this time, yellow eyes dancing with humour. “So,” he says. “You know.”

Sam imagines him smirking, although he still can only see the eyes. “I know that you’re a monster,” he replies, trying to sound brave. He’s not sure it works though; his voice quivers and his hands shake at his sides.

The figure moves, an arm going up to rest on his chest. “Me?” it asks, affronted. “Your father has lied to you all your life, your brother, too. They kill things without question, without remorse. So tell me, Sam, who is the real monster?”

Sam frowns. He hates that he’s been lied to, but lies don’t make people monsters. “They kill evil.”

He laughs, harsh, short. “Good, evil, black, white,” he says. “They are not so different. You don’t understand yet, but you will.”

“Why don’t you show yourself to me?” Sam calls out, frustration rising.

“I can’t,” the figure says simply. “I have no body, and you can’t look upon my true form.” He pauses, and Sam imagines he smiles, then. “Not yet, anyway.”

“What -” Sam starts, but then those yellow eyes turn on him, gazing deep into his soul. As he stands there, fixed to the spot, Sam feels _something_ stir beneath his skin, writhing and twisting. He stares at his hands in horror, an energy, a power concentrating in them.

“You have so much power, boy,” the figure hisses. “You could be a _king_.”

Sam can hear his heart pounding in his chest when he wakes. He sits up slowly, his hands still feeling alive with that unnatural power. He looks over to where Dean is asleep on the other bed and briefly thinks about waking him up, but he knows he can’t.

It was just a dream, after all.

* * *

The dreams come and go, after that. Sometimes Sam will go weeks without seeing so much as a hint of the figure; other times he’ll come to him three days in a row. The whisper of power never quite goes away either - Sam can always feel it lurking, dormant, in his veins, whispering in his ears to unleash it. He feels eyes following him everywhere he goes, yellow ones, waiting for him to give in. He tries mentioning it, but the few times he brings it up with Dad, or Dean, or even Uncle Bobby, he’s met with _Later, Sam,_ or _I’m busy,_ or _Get back to work, we don’t have time_.

So.

He takes matters into his own hands, the way he’s been learning to do for years now, long before he knew the truth. He shuts himself in local libraries whenever he can (which is often; that’s where Dad prefers him to be) and pours over lore on yellow-eyed creatures. Most of it is useless, talking about inhuman beasts with the claws and minds of animals, which Sam knows this thing is not. But there are other books, few as they may be, that tell of demons and devils who sit at Satan’s right hand. Sam wants these to be wrong, too, but he can feel the truth of them in his bones, and he feels heavy with this new knowledge.

He steals these books away, knowing that no-one will notice them going missing, and hides them in his gear, reading and re-reading them when Dad and Dean aren’t looking. He commits every word to memory, making sure he is ready to deal with whatever this demon has planned for him.

* * *

Just after his sixteenth birthday, the demon comes to him again, still just a shadow with sickly yellow eyes.

“I know what you are,” Sam says quietly. “What do you want with me?”

The demon cocks his head. “Someone’s been doing their homework, I see. But you’re not ready yet.”

Sam’s anger rises, and he rushes forward with a growl, grabbing at the demon’s neck. But he is only a shadow, and Sam almost falls as he disappears in his grasp. There’s cold laughter behind him and he whirls, the figure seeming amused at his persistence.

“Interesting,” he mutters. Then, “Alright. I like you Sam, so I’ll give you a little head start.”

He stretches out his hand and Sam flinches away but somehow, impossibly, cool fingers touch his forehead, sending a blinding agony shooting through him. The power in his veins fizzes gleefully and Sam’s dream dissolves, being replaced by trees and moonlight.

Sam recognises these woods as the ones near their motel, the ones where Dad had thought the wendigo they’re hunting might be hiding. He watches, paralysed, as three figures come slowly into his field of vision - Dad, Dean, and Sam himself. He tries calling out to them, but he’s completely frozen, reduced to looking on helplessly as they look for the creature.

All of a sudden, Other Sam yells, “Dad!” then lunges at John, pushing him out of the way just as the wendigo crashes through the treeline. Bright flames light up the forest as Dean ignites his flamethrower, and Sam is forced to close his eyes, the image of the dying wendigo stamped across his vision.

When he opens his eyes again, he sees Dean looming above him, scowling in annoyance.

“Get up, Sam,” he says impatiently. “Dad just called, said he’s tracked the thing down. He needs us both there as back up. You’ve got two minutes.”

Sam pushes himself upright, his dream still clearly replaying in his head. It could all just be a coincidence, but something in the back of his mind is whispering to him not to ignore it, that Dad’s going to be in danger tonight and Sam’s the only one who’ll be able to stop it. Anxiety settles in his guts, and Sam walks out of the motel knowing what he has to do.

* * *

Sam’s dream comes true, and Dad is pissed. Despite Sam’s best efforts, the night hadn’t gone injury-free - Sam has a long gash down his leg from where he’d fallen and Dean sports a black eye.

They have their first big fight that night, John saying that if he’d kept his damn mouth shut then the creature wouldn’t have found them; Sam retorting that he’d saved John’s life and he should be thanking him. Dean takes Dad’s side like he always has done when they’ve butted heads, but this feels different to their usual spats. It feels like something is breaking, and there’s no going back.

In his dreams that night, the demon tells him that his talents will never be appreciated as long as he’s with his family. Sam just listens, wondering not for the first time if this is ever going to end. The demon’s been in his head for over ten years, now, and Sam is still no closer to figuring out what any of it means. He just wants it to be over.

So Sam runs. Dad leaves on a hunt, and Dean’s back is turned, and Sam runs. He runs until he can’t anymore, finding himself in a cabin in Flagstaff, Arizona, with junk food and a dog and no dreams. For two whole weeks, there’s no sign of yellow eyes or shadowy figures, and even the ever-present energy begins to diminish. Sam thinks he’s finally done it. He got away, he’s _out_ , he’s free of everything -

He’s pulled back in, and the dream of freedom fades like breath on a mirror. Sam learns that day - freedom isn’t made for people like him.

(In his dream, the demon just laughs.)

* * *

Two years down the line, and Sam’s running again, all the way to California. He’d promised himself all those years ago that, one day, he’d find a way out of it all, one that meant he would never have to go back again. He thinks he’s found it, now. Dad will never come and get him, not after Sam betrayed him so, and the demon can’t get to him here, in this state of sunshine and innocence. It’s perfect.

Time passes, and, sure enough, the demon goes quiet. This foreign power’s intensity dips until Sam barely knows it’s there at all. He aces college, he makes new friends, he gets a girl.

 _Jessica_. Her name sounds so sweet on his tongue, pure and gentle, so different to everything he had growing up. He doesn’t know why she’s with him, but a part of him doesn’t care about that; the fact that she is, is enough. He loves her deeply, and a future appears before his eyes, so bright and solid that he thinks he can make it real. And, _God_ , is he willing to make it so, because it’s everything he thought he could never have, and more.

He gets as far as looking for engagement rings when she starts to burn. His dreams are vivid, the flames searing his skin, the feeling of her blood on his head so visceral that he has to check it’s not there when he wakes. He worries that it’s starting again, that the demon is trying to tell him something, like he did the night before the wendigo hunt. But he tells himself that it can’t be - there are no eyes watching him in the shadows, no voices hissing _king_ and _power_ and _destiny_ in his ears.

He’s fine. It’s fine.

Sam goes back to his carefully built life, trying to ignore the almost nightly dreams. Anyway, this is normal, right? He’s going to marry this girl - it’s only natural that he should be worried about her. It’s fine.

Two weeks later, Jessica burns on the ceiling, the future Sam had seen melting around her like glass.

* * *

There’s a funeral. Sam goes, watching as what’s left of the girl he loves is lowered into the earth. Her parents are there, and all their college friends, everyone dressed in black, a sharp contrast against the flowers and photos that are scattered around.

He doesn’t cry.

Dean looks like he wants to say something when they head back to the motel, but he’s never been good at this sort of thing so he stays silent. Sam’s grateful. He doesn’t want anyone else to tell him how sorry they are, how unfair it was, how cruel. Those are just words now, empty and void.

He doesn’t talk to Dean, either, which is probably unreasonable of him, but he doesn’t have it in him to care anymore. He just turns away and closes his eyes, waiting to see if sleep will come tonight.

It does, and with it comes Jessica. He watches her burst into flame, and her eyes bore into his, hard and unforgiving.

 _Why?_ she demands of him. _Why Sam?_

 _I’m sorry,_ he cries, like he always does, but this time the dream freezes. Something moves in Sam’s periphery, and he turns to face it, his eyes widening in shock when he sees the demon lounging in the doorway. He’s more solid now, features beginning to make themselves clear, although they are still cloaked in shadows.

“I did warn you,” he says, as though reprimanding a child.

“I thought…” Sam starts, but the words won’t come, his throat closing up as tears fill his eyes for the first time since her death.

“What?” the demon asks, his tone mocking and cruel. “You thought you could run from your destiny - run from me? Sorry, kiddo. Guess again.”

Sam looks away from the demon, gaze flicking back up to Jessica. Her eyes are wide with fear and pain, her hair fanned out around her like a halo. The flames ring her body, casting a bright glow all around her. It’s a strangely beautiful image.

Off to the side, the demon sighs. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll make you a little deal. You come with me, right now, claim your place at my side, and I can guarantee that you can see her again.”

Sam’s head jerks up at that, and he stares at the demon in shock. He’s heard of such things, of course he has, demons making deals with humans and damning their souls for eternity. It’s dangerous, he knows, and he shouldn’t do it, but…

But, Sam thinks his soul is probably already damned, for this life he’s led. All he is good for now is shadows and darkness; an angel like Jessica should never have come near him. It’s true that she would not want him to do this, but Sam is tired of fighting his destiny. He should just give up now, while he still has a choice in the matter. Or, the illusion of one, at least; he knows deep down that this is no real choice.

“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse, and the demon grins. The apartment melts away, replaced by a large hall, with a throne sitting on a raised dais at the end of it. The demon leads him through a crowd of faceless creatures to the throne, pushing Sam to his knees in front of it.

“Sam Winchester,” the demon calls, raising his voice so that it rings around the hallway. “The Boy King!”

Mutters break out around him, but they quiet as the demon produces a crown of thorns, holding high for all to see. After a moment, he lowers it to Sam’s head, the thorns piercing the skin, but Sam barely feels the pain. As soon as the crown touches him, the power that’s lain ignored for so long bursts to life, electrifying his entire body. Sam takes a shuddering breath, closing his eyes and letting the energy course through him. He smiles, his future clear once more.

The Boy King stands and takes his place on the throne of Hell.

He has work to do.


End file.
